On a Whim
by Clairavance
Summary: Just a regular day in the lives of AU teenage Dante & Vergil; a rainstorm, training, a wager and a little bit of bromance - my way. Oneshot.


**Be warned: this is going to get dirty, and I do love myself some rough play with Dante.  
Also, edited for too many f-bombs from Dante. Pretty sure you can imagine where they'd been. ;)**

* * *

The midday heat beat down on the sweat-soaked backs of the two teenagers as an intimidating figure paced the length of the field alongside them. The boys crossed the field in unison; lunge, kick, lunge, kick, lunge, kick. Break. Lunge, kick, lunge, kick, lunge, kick. Break. Eight times over.

"Drop down and give me a hundred," their drill sergeant bellowed.

They dropped to their hands and straightened their legs. On the sixtieth push-up, "pick up the pace, boys!"

They hit the hundred mark, and before they had even straightened to their feet, "sprint!"

They set off across the field, feet thudding in harmony across the damp grass. Sweat plastered their platinum blonde hair to their foreheads; ran into their eyes and dripped from their chins. They reached the opposite end of the field at twenty seconds exactly. Took a ten second breather. Sprinted back the other way. Break. Sprint. Break. Sprint. Break. Their father followed them on the sidelines, his sprint looking far too much like a simple jog. Both boys acknowledged this and exchanged a look before pushing themselves harder.

Another eight sets of push-ups awaited them at the edge of the field. Break. Another sprint back to the starting point. Squat, kick, squat, kick, squat, kick. Break. Squat, kick, squat, kick, squat, kick. Break. Faster.

Jog on the spot, "keep your knees high. Don't slack off. All out, boys, c'mon let's go!"

"Alright, kids. Pick your poison," their father gestured to the set of four kettlebells nearby.

Both boys seized hold of one 32kg kettlebell each without hesitation, "unilateral squats and press left."

They answered with grunts and groans as they rose from their squats to lift the heavy equipment high, and back down, up, and down, up and down. "Ten seconds. Switch."

The boys passed their kettlebells to their right hand and continued the exercise undeterred. Break. Switch. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Switch. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Break. Switch. Eight times over.

"Grab a weight. Let's work those bellies. I want to see you put in extra effort after that pizza, Dante."

Said teenager grunted in response, dropping his kettlebell in favour of a barbell. He laid down on the mercifully cool grass beside his brother and got a good grip on the heavy barbell.

"Bicycle crunch."

Halfway through the exercise, Dante started to count down the seconds in his head. 15... 10...5...break. 19...16...12...8...4...break. 20...15...11...7...3...break. 19...13...6...shit, 3 more... stop. He dropped the barbell and lay breathing heavily, blinking blindly up at the bright sky. He saw his brother sit up in his peripheral, and did the same with a breathless moan.

"I swear you're trying to kill me off," Dante panted.

"If you can't take the heat, then go home," Sparda retorted.

"Tch," Dante mumbled.

"Cool down. Jog the perimeter of the field three times. Keep up your hydration. I'll meet you boys back at the house for sparring in half an hour."

Dante wiped a hand down his face and shook the sweat from his fingers as he watched his father retreat from the sports field. He looked over at his brother who was already jogging in the opposite direction. He scrambled to his feet and set off until he was matching his twin's steps with his own.

"Dude, that was killer."

"You say that every time, Dante," Vergil panted back.

"I mean it this time. He extended our training by a whole ten minutes."

"You're to blame for that."

"Because I had pizza instead of that tofu crap?"

"Because you went awol with your friends on the weekend. You ate too much junk and you drank too much beer. Today will help work that out of your system."

"Pretty sure it was out of my system two days ago already. I've got a fast metabolism, y'know."

"I meant over-indulging will be out of your system, you idiot. Moderation is key."

"Yeah well, as soon as I get out of this place, I'm going to have all the pizza and booze I want, when I want, without Pop breathing down my neck about burning calories and shit."

"You'll get out of shape."

"I'll never get out of shape."

They jogged the rest of their rounds in silence and finally took shelter beneath a canopy of trees. The view of the coast was stunning, and with nothing but a high, steep descent separating the field from the beach itself, they could enjoy the cool sea breeze uninterrupted. Vergil had removed his soaked shirt and was leaning back against the bark of a tree, drinking long from a bottle of water. Dante took a few sips of his own before bending down to put his water down. He caught a whiff of himself then, and pulled his T-shirt over his head to toss it beside Vergil's.

They stood in companionable silence, letting the aftermath of the summer rainstorm cool them down.

"We should get home."

"Hmpf," Dante muttered, squinting at the horizon.

"You know Dad doesn't like us being late. Let's go."

"I've an idea."

Vergil turned to him, momentarily confused. "What?"

"I have an idea," Dante repeated, and grinned at his brother with dancing blue eyes. "Are you game?"

"Tell me what it is first."

"Say you're game first."

"Will I regret this later?"

"Maybe," Dante shrugged casually. "Who knows? It doesn't matter, either way. Are you in or out? I can do it without you."

Vergil relented. "Fine. Let's hear it."

"Sweet!" Dante said and started for the pile of torn-down wooden fences that had once surrounded the field. He lifted off slabs of them and picked out two that didn't look too brittle or moldy. Vergil joined his side uncertainly, and scowled when Dante lifted one of the slabs over his head.

"Grab yours. I'll race you to the bottom!"

"Are you crazy? How are we going to get back up?"

"We'll wing it!"

"That's at least an eighty foot drop!"

"It's actually a hundred," Dante stated, dropping his slab of wood near the edge. He turned to smirk at Vergil. "Chickenshit?"

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "We'll get stuck not even a quarter of the way down."

Dante pursed his lips and lifted his eyebrows.

"_Think_, Dante, it rained something chronic this entire morning. The mud will make us stick."

"So you _are_ chickenshit."

Vergil huffed and dropped his board of wood a few feet apart from Dante's. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Dante gave him a childish grin as he put his one foot on his board. Vergil shook his head and sat down on his own board, pressing his heels against one of the vertical planks at the bottom of his board.

"Winner gets to spar with Alastor!" Dante called.

Vergil pushed his board over the edge with his hands and gripped the sides to steer. He heard Dante let out a surprised laugh. The next moment his twin was flying past him, surfer-style.

Unlike his brother, though, Vergil was able to steer his own board and use his weight to somewhat control the speed. He weaved behind Dante and grabbed a fistful of mud as he passed his twin. He hurled it and let out a triumphant laugh when the mud hit Dante in the shoulder.

"Foul play!" Dante hollered after him.

The bottom came up to greet him far quicker than Vergil had expected. At the speed he was going, it would be like hitting a full-steam train. He teleported and stumbled a few unsteady steps on the beach below. He turned around to see his board had splintered into smithereens.

Dante was still speeding downward, and Vergil realised the same instant his twin did that it had been a bad call to try it standing up.

The unthinkable happened. Vergil had been right. Dante's board went from full throttle to suddenly jarring in the mud, sending Dante flying a couple of feet before smashing into the ground in insane somersaults and pinwheels of arms and legs. Vergil saw blood splashing. He teleported and caught Dante around the chest before he could hit the ground a fourth time, and back to the beach. The disorienting momentum threw him off his feet and they ended up in a heap on the sand.

Vergil disengaged his limbs from his twins', chuckling in disbelief. "I told you, didn't I?"

"Shut up," Dante wheezed out in pain. "I think I broke my neck."

"I'm not surprised. Oh, wonderful, you got blood all over me."

"Red looks good on you," Dante jested.

Vergil furrowed a brow at him, and chuckled again. "You got all cut up."

"Shut up."

"Race back to the top?"

"I can't move, stupid."

"Don't feel sorry for yourself. It could have been worse."

"Nothing is worse than getting beat."

"The tide could come in," Vergil suggested, and shook his head when Dante pulled the finger at him. "Oh, brother, you and your foolish ideas."

"It was fun while it lasted."

"You're not going to get to spar."

"Just give me a few minutes and I'll be good as new."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be just fine," Vergil said and patted Dante hard on the chest before climbing to his feet. "But it's going to take you a while to scale the drop back up to the field."

"Wait...you're just going to leave me here?"

"Winner gets to spar with Alastor, remember? And unlike you," Vergil grinned down into his brother's face. "I like to be punctual."

Vergil teleported before he could hear the expletives Dante threw after him.

* * *

**For those of you who are not privy to my rants about my laptop giving me issues: my battery/power supply has been playing games with me. My laptop died sometime mid-February and only in August did I somehow manage to pump some power back into it. I jumped on the chance to backup all my work while it's still alive and kicking, and this is one of the many drabbles I'm fairly sure I wrote ages ago but have no memory of writing.**

**Either that, or someone hacked my computer and left their writing on my computer. Still not convinced half the stuff I've discovered are mine, but that's what I always think about my work. I don't reread anything I upload unless it's to make sure a sequel doesn't contradict the previous story.**

**Anyway. I'm 100% I did write this one, though. If only because I remember my daddy being my inspiration for it. He was always telling us 'you're going to break your neck!' if we tried to do anything fun when we were kids. **


End file.
